UNMASKED
The stale air in the concrete cell clung to Isabella's skin like a second layer of grime. Seven days. Seven days of darkness, of counting the cracks in the walls, of listening to the scuttle of rat claws on concrete. Seven days of wondering if she'd ever see sunlight again.
The door groaned open with its familiar metallic protest. Isabella didn't bother looking up this time. The routine never changed - the scrape of a food tray across concrete, the muttered obscenities from whichever guard had pulled the short straw.
But the footsteps were wrong.
Too measured. Too confident.
A shadow fell across her hunched form. The scent of expensive cologne cut through the cell's musty stench, triggering a memory she couldn't quite place.
"Still breathing, I see."
That voice.
